October Nights
by icychase
Summary: gripping tale of a young tomcat who ventures into the foreboding forest, sure of his impending doom, yet goes on to reunite with ancestors long forgotten.
1. Prologue

perhaps it was the windy chill ruffling the moor--perhaps it was simply ziggy's avid imagination acting up--which lured him to the shadows. it whispered to him, it seemed, or perhaps it was merely the whistle of trees and songbirds. the eerie starshine cast its frosty glow over the riverbank, illuminating his footsteps. fish splashed merrily in the tidy silver water. ziggy hungered for them, but images of a churning obsidian tide flashed through his mind. the sharp craving ebbed away. he could wait until the rustle of mice and the stir of voles became present; along with the streaming rosy dawn, which he longed for ever so much. perhaps it was his ache for sunlight in this gloomy forest that fed his loathe. he could swear on a moon of juicy mice that the gnarly claws of the trees outstretched for his glossy black pelt. their knobby knuckles groaned with effort, snatching at his hide.

ziggy quickened his pace. the flirtatious river only chuckled in reply, but ziggy knew better; his rebuke was no more than the whisking thrum of pawsteps. silver waves splashed over him, but all he could see was crimson, flowing down the winding trail. the moor stretched out before him. a river, much more ghastly than the ravenous river of black, chewed at the moor. glowing blue trees cackled--with fear or triumph?

ziggy knew that this playful forest beckoned for him. it begged him to play; splash in the river, roll in the grass, run on the moor. maybe even scale a sky-tickling tree! the long grass clawed longingly at his fuzzy white belly. ziggy wished he could feel such sorrow as the grass, but he was rendered incapable by the looming precession of fear. he was self-destructive, only seeing the worst. maybe the flowing sea of scarlet was a sign. he yearned to feel the snug warmth of a twoleg nest on his back, but the crisp air of the forest settled deep within him. something stirred--something long forgotten. this something longed to whisk across wind-torn grass, or fish in the river. heaps of sparkling silver kill built up next to him. a rushing sense of freedom and belonging crashed violently over him. memories--maybe hallucinations--of fresh mice, a swelling river, and a soft-spoken she-cat surfaced. they were unspoken, for they needed no words. ziggy knew his pawsteps fell into those he set countless moons ago.

but perhaps it was only the chill of a cold october night.


	2. Chapter 1: A King In His Castle

oaks always were ziggy's favorite tree. in the skyline did they loom, dutifully gazing over the vast expanse of his castle, shedding crisp leaves upon the lumpy, bumpy suburban floor. perhaps he really shouldn't say suburban--it was a small community over which did he preside. there was a sure authority in his tensed posture; quiet ambition smoldered in his vivid green eyes. his kingdom was small, he seldom admitting, but he could peer over all of the village. from his precarious perch atop a spindly tree, he could gaze out the stretch of window. the first thing he saw was a taut oak waving its hello. and a hello he always wove back, for every king had consideration over his solders--rebellion brings nothing but pain! but even the mightiest, eldest, and wisest tree in his fair land could bring down such a noble reign! nor did they want to, ziggy presumed.

an iron fist and prestige was crucial to a king's rule. ziggy was a just king--he allowed his knight, and fellow roommate, puff have the remains of what he ate. in return, the elder, more taut muscled puff swore that he would flay the vermin scurrying about his palace. "the king will eat the finest rodent i can catch!" he said this oath with hint of snide, but ziggy ignored itx. "no, no, good man. i am well living off the banquet the housefolk put down every night." and so, he could scramble upon the rabbit's cell and overlook the back lands of his territory. a scraggly oak splayed a gnarly claw over the ground. a single leaf, furling crisply with death, wavered in a chilly breeze. for four seasons now, ziggy had perched in the ficus, watching playful white flakes embrace the ground, and the leaves which carpeted it below. for four seasons, he had smugly curled in a snug blanket, watching the world freeze around him. for four seasons, the world had passed him by.

the night before, his timid green eyes fluttered shut, casting him far away into a land of silver spilling over indigo grass and snapping trees towering above. the river seemed innocent enough--it all had, before his rogue imagination reeled, portraying once whispering trees with ones that rasped, and the river one of a grave crimson. he had ran; he had ran, as always, in no favored way, but just away from the cackling stream and spitting woodland. he was dimly aware that this was a dream, but the realism writhing in every inch of grass or water or maple (curse those maples) stole his breath. so, away he had ran, also faintly aware of the moon glowing cornflower blue--as well as the twin moon to its side, boring holes into ziggy's glossy pelt. _"only one way can a true river flow; no peace will come to the fish who writhe down below--until the gasp of a raven's wing, can stir the voice of birds who sing."_ the ominous rasp shattered his fitful rest. by then, he had given up running, and was following the swift river aside him. they fell in step together, and for a moment, the aching presence of the forest neatly set a few fox-lengths away seems to ebb. but as the uninviting blue moons spoke--with not one gasping voice, but several uniting to scare the wits out of poor ziggy--the river swayed away. he broke into a run, fleetingly ripping apart from its churning step. the woods once more yearned to rake his hide. and, the stars, once more burned with a strange cold dance they had once maintained. strangely, ziggy threw his head back; feeling as if the stars held mysterious answers he itched to bask in. they had some kind of prevailing authority & wisdom. but, sometimes, a star is just a star.


End file.
